I'm having a change of life, but I'm not sure it's the one you're thinking of.
Yes, I'm becoming a corporation, and I'm not even on flaxseed.
Long story short, after writing almost 20 books in about 20 years, it's time for me to become a company. It was a lawyer who told me this, and the reason was to protect me from other lawyers.
Which sounds like Ted Bundy warning you to stay away from Jeffrey Dahmer.
The lawyer convinced me that incorporating was a good idea by saying the words lawsuit and exposure, which scared me. I never want to be exposed. If you had my cellulite, you'd understand.
And I have to admit, the idea of incorporating appealed to my vanity. After all, if I became a corporation, you know who would be the president.
No, not Ruby the Corgi.
Call me President Me.
But don't tell Ruby. She scares me more than exposure. She's the dog that ate the top of my finger, biting the hand that feeds her, literally.
Anyway, to stay on point, it also seemed like I'd be taking a step up, going from being self-employed to becoming my own company. I felt suddenly more legitimate, like a couple who had been living together but decided to get married. Except I was marrying myself.
This time, I'm sure it'll work!
My third husband won't be a dog, it'll be me.
After all, we never fight, we always agree, and we have the same religion, which is worshipping chocolate cake.
So during the big meeting to discuss the particulars, the first question they asked me was, "What do you want to call your corporation?"
"I don't know," I answered. During any big meeting, I'm always the one not knowing. "What should I call my corporation?"
"Just pick a name you like," they answered, so I told them:
They didn't think it was funny. Or maybe they hear it 300 times a day. They asked, "How about Lisa Scottoline L.L.C.?"
It had a familiar ring, but it wasn't much fun. I always notice the company names at the end of TV shows and movies, and a lot of them are fun. I needed to think of a fun corporate name. After all, I envisioned myself as a fun company president, like the corporate version of the Cool Mom.
Also I realized that I was failing the first test of President Me, in asking them what to name the company instead of making an Executive Decision, all by my presidential self.
So I said, "How about Chick Wit L.L.C.?"
Nobody liked it.
They told me to go home and make a better Executive Decision. Of course, that meant I asked Daughter Francesca. She said, "How about Smart Blonde?"
I loved it immediately, and I decided to become Smart Blonde L.L.C. Instead of Dumb Blonde, get it? Changing the world, one stereotype at a time.
I'm the change candidate.
By the way, don't ask me what L.L.C. means. I know that LL Cool J means Ladies Love Cool J. So maybe L.L.C. means Ladies Love C something.
Ladies Love Chocolate!
I should have named my corporation L.L.C., L.L.C., then only those of us in the know would get it. Everybody else would think I was drunk.
Back to the story. After I had the corporate name, the lawyers said they'd draw up the papers, but oddly, I found myself lying awake at night, anxious about my life change. I didn't know if I was ready to be President. I feel more comfy being Class Clown.
And I'd never had a woman president, much less been one.
Then I realized.
Like many women, I run a household. All moms have.
We're all presidents of our homes. We all run everybody's schedule, we all coordinate the pickups and the deliveries. We all authorize certain expenditures and disallow others. We all make sure there's heat, clean clothes, packed lunches. We all make sure there's something other than pizza for dinner.
So it's not as if we've never had a woman president.
In fact, we always have.
Now all we need is a raise.